The Complete Psychic's Guide To Survival
by tiffaroolou
Summary: Shawn is trapped. Like really, really trapped. And not in a good way. Is there any good way of being trapped? Other than being trapped in a pineapple processing plant... Will Shawn's friends find him? Will help come in time? What's a fake psychic to do?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello lovely readers. Nice to see you all again. Yes, I am indeed writing for Psych now. For all of you NCIS readers who do not watch Psych, have no fear. I may have branched out into a new show, but I will not be ignoring you faithful people in the least (though I do encourage you to get into Psych if you can. It's an **awesome **show. I'm thinking of possibly writing a crossover sometime in the future). I have been working on my 2 NCIS WIPs as well as the sequel to HTR, and hope to begin posting to them again soon. I have been **crazy** overrun with school and work lately, but I think I've got the swing of things down now, and will soon have organized writing time again. _*Rejoices*_

So, to all my loyal readers who have decided to join me as I try something new, as well as the shiny new readers I may accrue, thank you so much for reading, and enjoy. :D

**Chapter 1: Not Exactly What I Meant By 'Having a Blast'**

**

* * *

**

"I'm just going to take a quick look around, ok?" Shawn assured Gus. "Maybe spot a couple more pieces of evidence that I can 'divine' in the vision that will undoubtedly come upon me when Jules and Lassie get here."

Gus shook his head. "I don't like it, Shawn. That old building gives me the creeps. I mean, just look at those two broken windows on the top floor. It's like they're staring at us. I really think we should wait."

"Come on, Gus," Shawn said in a coaxing, slightly patronizing tone. "_Everything_ gives you the creeps. The cowboy at Pete Sanders' seventh birthday party gave you the creeps, and he was a perfectly nice man."

"Uh-huh," Gus scoffed. "You're just saying that because he let you have another balloon after you accidentally let go of your first one."

Shawn's mouth fell open as he stared at his best friend with mock affront. "Ok, first of all, you know very well that letting go of that balloon was no accident. Margaret Johansson tripped me. Deliberately. With a cold, calculating smirk on her evil, _evil_ little face."

Gus rolled his eyes.

"And second of all, if that building is staring at you, than it's also smiling. Look at that pattern of graffiti on the siding below. Now, all together, doesn't that look like a smile to you?"

"Maybe a creepy smile," Gus muttered.

Shawn heaved a giant sigh. "Fine, Gus. You don't _have_ to come. You can stay here and be chicken if you want."

"Shawn! You take that back! I am _not_ chicken! I just—"

"Ooh! Idea!" Shawn interrupted with a theatrical gasp. "No, no, no, this is perfect! You stay right there so you can direct the police to the correct building in case they get here before I come back."

"Shawn—"

"Alright, I'll admit that's not likely, taking into consideration my almost cheetah-like speed and precision, but I feel it's best to be prepared for the possibility that—"

"Shawn," Gus began again, a note of warning in his voice. "I _really_ don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh, would you relax, Gus? Don't be such a doubting tomcat."

Gus raised his eyebrows, incredulous. "'Doubting tomcat'? Did you seriously just say that, Shawn? I think you mean 'doubting _Thomas_.'"

Shawn waved a hand dismissively. "I've heard it both ways."

"Shawn, that's ridiculous. You have not."

"Look, I'm just going to be in and out. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone." At this, Shawn started off toward the building at a jog.

"Shawn!" Gus called after him angrily.

Shawn turned with a merry grin, giving Gus a short wave before disappearing inside.

Gus crossed his arms across his chest sulkily as he leaned back against the Blueberry to wait.

"Uh, yeah, Shawn. I _think _I noticed that."

* * *

As the outer door thudded heavily closed behind Shawn, his bravado disappeared and he gulped. This was indeed a creepy building, even creepier on the inside—not that he'd admit it to Gus—complete with eerily creaking floors, strange shadows thrown every which way against the walls, and an almost palpable hint of menace hanging in the still, musty air: all necessary ingredients for a B-grade horror flick.

"Ok, Shawn," he said aloud, feeling better as soon as he heard his own voice break through the ominous silence. "It's not really _that_ creepy. It's just your imagination borrowing a little fear from Gus. Find the clues and get out, and everything will be fine."

He looked quickly over the room, taking in anything out of the ordinary. Fresh scrapes marred the wooden railing above a stairway and a few flecks of rust had fallen to the cement steps below, indicating that something large and made of metal had recently been moved through there. He also took note of a distinctive set of boot prints in a thin layer of dust on the floor that led directly from the steps to a far wall, and then straight back.

Hmmm.

One section of the wall was ever so slightly different in color than the rest, and Shawn knew immediately that there must be something behind it. Careful not to disturb the footprints, he stepped closer and scrutinized the wall. Exactly at eye level was an almost perfectly round knot in the wood, and Shawn reached forward and pushed it. The next second, a small door swung open into a hidden room.

Shawn chuckled to himself. "Secret rooms and passageways? Gus is going to be sorry he missed this."

It was a bare, ordinary looking room though, and Shawn frowned, let down and also a little confused. This couldn't be all there was. He turned around, inspecting the room intently, and something caught his eye. A small panel near the floor protruded a fraction of an inch more than the rest.

"A secret compartment within a secret room? Bonus!"

This one was harder to open though; the wood seemed to have been wedged in at the wrong angle and was stuck fast. Now Shawn really wished Gus had come, but finally he managed to work the panel out. He set it aside with no small amount of satisfaction.

Then blinked in shock as he realized what he was looking at.

"Oh, sh—"

* * *

Gus paced outside. Shawn had been gone too long.

Too.

Damn.

Long.

He checked his watch again.

30 seconds had passed since he had checked it last, meaning that Shawn had been in there for a total of 14 minutes.

Which wasn't really _that _long, but it _was_ longer than it usually took Shawn to sleuth out clues. He should have been back by now.

Unless, of course, he'd found a shipment of smuggled pineapples in there to occupy his time.

Or if he'd come across a pretty girl to chat up.

Or if he'd been captured by bad guys.

"No, you did _not_ just think that," Gus scolded himself. "Shawn has _not_ been captured by bad guys. He probably just found something he didn't expect and has to think of a new way to reveal it, or else he got distracted by something and doesn't realize how long he's been in there. Yeah, that's got to be it. Punctuality has never been one of his strengths."

His nervous self-pep-talk was cut off just then as Santa Barbara's finest drove up, several black-and-white squad cars following closely behind an unmarked sedan.

"Guster, where the hell is Spencer?" Detective Lassiter called as he got out of the lead car and slammed the door shut. "If he's going to call us all down here, taking valuable time away from our other leads, and then can't even be bothered to show up, I swear I'll—"

"Now, Carlton," Juliet interrupted. "I'm sure Shawn wouldn't call us down here without a reason."

"You know that's right," Gus agreed, shooting Juliet an approving look. "Shawn's in the building already. He told me to wait out here to make sure you would know where to go."

"Well," Lassiter began, refusing to be chastened, "this had better be good."

"Why didn't you both just wait for us out here?" Juliet asked.

Gus shrugged. "Shawn said that he sensed something bigger was going on here than we all thought, and he wanted to see what more he could divine before you got here."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "In other words, he wants to put on a performance, as usual." He sighed. "Well, might as well get on with it."

What Juliet remembered most clearly after that was the complete and utter stillness of the air as they began walking forward, all sound seeming sucked into the vacuum of the building ahead, before it was suddenly, forcefully shot back out in a violent cacophony of shattering glass and splintering wood and shaking earth. As fiery debris rained down on them, she realized she was face down in the dirt with no recollection of diving for cover, her partner's arm still protectively pushing down on her shoulders.

"Shawn," she gasped, ignoring her scraped and stinging knees as she struggled to her feet.

Shawn was in there, she realized in disbelief.

"Shawn!" Gus echoed, pushing himself up on Lassiter's other side.

Lassiter himself went straight into command mode as he stood, taking off his ruined suit jacket with one hand as he dialed dispatch with the other. "I need the bomb squad down here, now! Send the fire department and paramedics, too."

He closed the phone with a snap and surveyed the scene with troubled eyes. The cop in him that had seen many such scenes in his lifetime knew there was little chance that anyone in what was left of that building could still be alive, but the side of him that was part antagonistic rival, part reluctant comrade and friend, hoped for a miracle.

_We'll get you out of there, Spencer. Hang on.

* * *

_

**A/N: **How did I do on my first chapter of my first Psych fic? Is it a good hook? Did I get the characters down? Is anyone hopelessly OOC? Please give me some feedback and let me know! xoxox_  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych. (gasp! NO WAY!)

Seriously. It's not mine.

Not even a teeny tiny itsy bitsy little baby bit.

Which makes me sad.

And also crave pineapple.

Which is not a bad thing. I love pineapple. Who doesn't?

...What are we talking about again?

Oh yeah. Not mine. I just like to play with it.

**A/N:** Short chapter this time, but I had to get it out. Enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Making Something Out Of Nothing At All

* * *

**

It was almost a full half hour before the bomb squad and all of their equipment was prepared to enter the building. By that time a handful of curious onlookers had gathered outside the cordoned off scene and Lassiter was at the very end of his limit of patience, nearly pulling his weapon on some amateur blogger who had merely asked if he could take pictures. Luckily, O'Hara had stepped in at the last moment, very sweetly informing the kid that if he didn't get the hell out of there, she was going to take great pleasure in arresting him for interfering in a police investigation. The petite detective could be quite intimidating when she wanted to, and right now Carlton could tell that his partner's focus on the job at hand was the only thing keeping her from coming apart at the seams.

He watched as she paced back and forth, alternately demanding whether the workers could go any faster and apologizing for being so abrupt with them. Every once in a while, she would turn to stare at the building with a faraway, anxious expression, then immediately snap back to attention and start the process all over.

"Detective Lassiter!"

Carlton glanced back. Henry Spencer strode toward him across the parking lot, a worried, purposeful, yet slightly irritated look on his face as he ducked under the yellow crime scene tape.

_Great. _Carlton groaned internally.

He had passed the task of notifying Spencer's father on to Officer McNab and had hoped (with no real confidence) that the ex-cop would simply stay away from the scene and let SBPD do their job. No such luck, it seemed.

"Lassiter!"

Carlton grudgingly turned to acknowledge the elder Spencer. "Yes?"

"Lassiter, what is going on here?" He suddenly caught sight of the building. "Dammitall, Shawn's in _that_? What the hell happened? Why was he in there in the first place?"

"Playing psychic investigator, what else?" Lassiter replied, somewhat snippily. "Look, Mr. Spencer, we're doing everything in our power right now to get your son out of there. As a civilian, I'm going to have to ask you to step behind the tape and—"

"Like hell you are," Henry cut in, fuming. "And don't even think about giving _me_ the runaround, Detective. I'm not above going over your head, so unless you'd like footprints all over your scalp, I suggest that you fill me in on everything."

The two men stood eye to eye to eye for a long moment, glowering at each other, until a breathless Gus interrupted them.

"They got a fix on Shawn's cell phone!" he reported, sounding excited. "I guess the roof of the building must have been made with a lot of lead or some other type of signal blocking material because they weren't getting a signal before, but now that they've began to cut through and remove some of the top layer of the rubble, it's coming through pretty strong."

"Well, what use is that?" Henry inquired skeptically. "We already know where he is, right?"

"Well, yes, but this is accurate to within 15 feet. Knowing where he is more precisely will help them locate and know where to start digging."

"Has anyone tried _calling_ Shawn's phone?" Henry demanded.

Gus nodded regretfully. "No answer. But that doesn't mean anything," he insisted. "It could be on silent, or maybe it got damaged in the explosion. You know, not enough that it would stop transmitting a signal but enough that Shawn can't answer it or can't see who's calling. I remember this one time something like that happened to my phone—Shawn was eating a jerk chicken chalupa with chili cheese sauce so his fingers were sort of slippery and then he wanted to try to beat my score in Tetris. Of course, I was like 'No way, Shawn. You are not coming anywhere near my phone with those hands,' and he was like, 'Come on, Gus. Don't be—"

Lassiter cleared his throat. "As fascinating as I'm sure this story must be in its entirety," he began, sarcasm oozing from every pore, "I must ask if there's a _point_ coming anytime soon?"

Gus glared at the head detective. "Yes, as a matter of fact. My point is that it doesn't mean _anything_ that Shawn's not answering. There could be a lot of reasons."

Henry and Lassiter exchanged a glance, both knowing that one of the many possible reasons for Shawn not answering was that he couldn't, and also knowing that Gus knew this as well, but just wouldn't—or couldn't—admit it out loud.

* * *

Shawn's return to consciousness was slow and agonizing. He didn't know where he was or why he had suddenly developed the monster headache of the century, but his skull felt like it had just been split in two with a sledgehammer and the pieces trampled by 8,000 river-dancing rhinoceros.

_R__hinoceroses? __R__hinoceri?__ I never can remember the correct plural form__ and this headache sure isn't helping._

The headache may have been his first focus, but that wasn't all; just about everywhere else seemed to hurt in equal measure. Also, he hadn't opened his eyes yet, but from the lack of familiar sounds and smells, he knew that he wasn't in his apartment, or Gus' place, or the Psych office, or even his dad's house.

_Did I wreck my bike again?_ he wondered.

No, he would have recognized if he was in the hospital. This was somewhere completely unknown.

He searched his mind for the last thing he could remember, and then it all came back to him.

Going to the old warehouse, Gus being chicken, finding the secret door in the wall, then the hidden compartment, and last, the bomb behind it.

_And I just _had_ to find the bomb seconds before it went off. __Great. __Well, if that isn't the __absolute __worst__ luck in the history of mankin__d...__  
_

Wary of the possibility of any light finding its way into his retinas and making his pounding feel head even worse, but knowing he needed to get his bearings, he slowly cracked open one eye, then the other.

_Wait, no. Let me try that one more time._

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut tight and then opened them again, quickly.

Nothing.

Wherever he was, it was pitch black.

_I wonder if this is one of those times it's so dark that you can't see your own hand in front of your face?_

Deciding to test his theory, he began to lift his arm.

And then stopped.

Not because he had changed his mind, or for any such frivolous reason, but because he literally couldn't move. He was pinned somehow, just below the right shoulder, by something heavy and rough.

_A wooden beam, perhaps?_

It continued across him diagonally, pressing down on most of his torso and part of his left leg, pinning him in place as effectively as a sadistic kid might pin a bug in a science project. His left arm was twisted awkwardly beneath him and, try as he might, he couldn't shift himself enough to free it. Not that one arm would have been of much help anyway. He was good and trapped, and the stuff on top of him would have been too heavy for him to move by himself under even the best of circumstances.

As the reality of his situation sunk in, while simultaneously telling himself not to panic, Shawn began to panic, sucking in a sudden, sharp breath. Unfortunately, he also sucked in a great deal of smoke and dust from the air surrounding him into that breath, and almost immediately began coughing and choking. The coughing fit only exacerbated the effect of the pressure on his chest, and the air he was receiving seemed to lessen rapidly. This in turn caused him to panic even more and he began to hyperventilate. Pretty soon, light-headed from his battle for oxygen, tears streaming from his eyes as he sputtered and wheezed, Shawn passed out cold again.

* * *

**A/N:** Ok, who wants more Hurt!Shawn? (Besides me, duh. XD) Anyone?... Anyone?... Bueller? Don't be afraid to chime in if I'm not whumping him enough for you or if you have any other questions, comments, or critiques.

Love, Tiff


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: ***Disclaims*

**A/N:** I would have had this up a couple of days sooner if not for RL getting in the way, including but not limited to: 5 million assignments all being due at once (ok, I exaggerate, but not by much, and besides, it's my right), weird schedules at work, and having to formulate an argument/retort toward a professor who gave me a B on a clearly A+ paper because she did not agree with some aspects of my interpretation of a play despite the fact that I backed them up with dialogue AND the fact that she says there was no right or wrong interpretation. ***SCREAMS INTO PILLOW* **And after angrily writing this retort, which I will use to argue for more points after class on Tuesday, I sat down and angrily devoured nearly a fourth of a fresh pineapple (true story, peeps. I'm about as pineapple-obsessed as Shawn, going back to before Psych was even on the air and definitely way before I ever watched it.), and then finished up this chapter with the remainder of my angry energy. :D Hope you like.

**Chapter 3: Sweet Dreams (Are Not Made Of This**)

* * *

"I don't know about this, Shawn."

"Come on, Gus," 10 year old Shawn pleaded. "It'll be cool. Just like _The_ _Adventures of Tom Sawyer_. Naturally, I'd be Tom in that scenario, leader of the pirate band, and—"

His best friend eyed the yawning hole in the cliff face with a look of suspicious apprehension. "But your dad said we weren't allowed to go into any of these caves. He said they're not safe."

Young Shawn rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't really think he has any right to be telling us these caves aren't safe when he dragged us out here in the middle of the wilderness for a week just because he felt like it. _This_ is not safe. We could be eaten by bears or mountain lions at any second. I think any possible danger from these caves pales in comparison to that."

"I don't know," Gus said uncertainly.

He was wavering though, Shawn could tell. Time to sweeten the deal.

"Oh, come on, Gus," he coaxed. "You're being Sid. You don't want to be Sid; you want to be Huckleberry Finn. That way you'll be my second-in-command. You can tell all the other pirates what to do. Except me, of course," he added as an afterthought.

Gus paused, considering this. "Well, alright. I guess it wouldn't hurt to just go in for just a _few_ minutes."

"Yes!" Shawn pumped his fist into the air. "Ok, let's go!" The two boys turned and began racing into the cave.

"Not so fast," a deep voice behind them intoned.

Shawn gulped, exchanging a horrified glance with his best friend before they both slowly turned around.

"Uh-oh," Shawn said in a small voice, taking in his father's angry expression.

"Yeah, uh-oh is right, kid." Henry folded his arms sternly. "Why on earth would you go into that cave after I specifically told you not to?"

"Um, well, maybe it's _because_ you specifically told me not to," Shawn said hopefully. "I mean, if you hadn't said anything at all, the idea probably would have never occurred to me."

"You know, he may be right, Mr. Spencer," Gus piped up. "You really shouldn't give him ideas."

Henry turned to look at him. "And Gus. I expected better from you, at least."

Gus shifted his gaze to the ground guiltily. "Sorry."

Henry sighed in exasperation, beckoning with his hand over to a stump where he sat down. "Come over here, both of you."

The two boys complied, Shawn dragging his feet the whole way.

"Now, I'm going to tell you boys a story. Maybe after you hear this, you won't be so gung-ho to go off and disobey me willy-nilly."

Shawn peered up disapprovingly from underneath his mop of hair. "Willy-nilly, dad? Really?"

"Personally, I thought the 'gung-ho' was worse," Gus chimed in solemnly.

Henry silenced them with his most formidable look, and then leaned forward to begin telling his story.

_*Two hours later*_

"—and that, boys, is why you should never, ever go into any sort of cave without parental supervision _and_ proper spelunking equipment. Understand?"

Shawn and Gus nodded earnestly, their eyes wide.

"Good. Now," Henry clapped his hands on their shoulders, beaming, "who wants to go fishing?"

_*That night*_

Shawn looked around, taking in the stone walls surrounding him, the stalactites and stalagmites everywhere, and the eerie lack of natural light. Wow. The cave was even cooler than he had imagined.

"Gus! Hey, Gus!" he called excitedly. "Isn't this cool?"

Gus sat in a corner, reading a comic book with a flashlight. He barely looked up. "Can't you see I'm busy, Shawn? Don't bother me."

"Gus," Shawn protested. "Don't you want to explore?"

"Not really," Gus said, sounding bored. "Just go without me."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Fine. Party pooper," he muttered under his breath.

He began to make his way further into the cave. The path that he followed became winding and narrow, and pretty soon, he couldn't see back to where he had come from. This scared him a little bit, and so he quickly turned around and hurried back along the path. Gus was gone, and the opening to the cave had disappeared as well. In its place was a wall of crumbling rock.

"Gus?" Shawn called. "Gus, where are you? Gus?"

Maybe he had taken a wrong turn. Shawn turned around to go back the way he came only to see that that opening too had turned into a wall.

"Gus?" Shawn swallowed back the panic in his voice. "Gus, what's going on? Stop messing around, dude. It's not funny."

Shawn looked around him frantically, searching for some way out of this stone prison. No way was he going to end up trapped in here like the kids in his dad's story, no way. Spotting a small crevice up above the pile of rocks, he clambered up and looked inside.

Bats.

Hundreds of them.

Shawn swallowed hard. He began slowly backing down the face of the rock, trying his best not to make a sound. Just then his foot hit a loose rock and he lost his balance, slipping and sliding all the way down until he hit the ground with a thud.

"Ow." Shawn rubbed his sore behind as he looked up, desperately hoping the bats had not been disturbed.

No such luck.

They poured from the crevice like a black cloud out of hell (or at the very least a decent haunted house), shrieking and wailing as they flapped angrily around the confined space.

Shawn curled up into a terrified ball, covering his face tightly as he felt the many flying bodies beat past him. In a few minutes, though, he could no longer hear their screeches, and he tentatively sat up. They were gone.

"Whoa. Gus, did you see that?" he asked, all fear disappearing in the glee that he was alright and his best friend was there again. "That was totally like _Batman Begins_, right?"

10 year old Gus looked at him calmly from his seat in the corner. "Shawn, that movie hasn't even been made yet."

Shawn wrinkled up his face, thinking. "Really? Huh. That's weird."

Gus stood. He was suddenly much, much taller than Shawn. "But now it has."

Now Shawn was really confused. "O…k… That doesn't make any sense, Gus."

"_You _don't make sense," Gus retorted.

Shawn shook his head. "Whatever. Want to get out of here?"

"Yeah. But you can't."

"What? How come?"

"Well, look at you, Shawn. You're buried in the rocks. Just like that story your dad told us when we were kids."

Shawn looked around, alarmed. Sure enough, he was buried in a pile of rocks, up to his neck. How had he not noticed that before?

"Dude, help me out," Shawn said, his heart beginning to race.

"I can't, Shawn. I think you need to learn a lesson. And your dad agrees." Gus stepped to the side, revealing Henry right behind him.

"He's right, kid. I've been too easy on you."

"Too _easy_?" Shawn repeated, incredulous. "Are you kidding me, dad? Easy is not even close to the word I would use. Demanding, maybe. Exacting. Impossible, even. But _easy_?" He made a rude noise in the back of his throat. "Who do you think you're kidding?"

Gus and Henry looked at each other and laughed.

"You never listen to me, Shawn. What did I tell you?" his dad asked.

"See you later, Shawn," Gus said as he and Henry walked off.

"No, guys, wait!" Shawn called, desperately. "Help me!"

"Sorry, Shawn. We're busy."

"Dad! Gus! _Dad!_"

Still chuckling to each other, the two men got into Gus' car.

Shawn stared after them in disbelief. "Wait! Guys!" he yelled. Then a thought occurred to him. "How did you even get the car in here?"

Gus rolled down the driver's-side window so Shawn could hear him. "The same way we're going to get it out," he explained smugly. He backed the Blueberry up as far as he could, to right in front of Shawn, and then put it in drive. "Watch this."

"What—" Shawn began, bewildered. He stopped as the little blue car began to accelerate toward the pile of rocks that blocked the entrance.

It broke through them with an earsplitting crash, and as it zoomed away, the rocks began tumbling down in a huge heap. Shawn tried to shout, but couldn't tell if he was even making a sound because of the din from the falling rocks.

It didn't stop.

They just kept falling and falling, piling around him, burying him deeper and deeper… further and further…

The earth was swallowing him whole.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Ok, so I'm a total freak and hadn't seen the summer finale until this past week. May I just state that it was made of awesome? By raise of hand, who else loved it? *counts hands* Just as I thought. Practically unanimous. I cannot stop watching this (www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=l89F9HQOGJ0&feature=related) video over and over again, and I simply HAD to buy the song that played in the background. (It's Wild Horses by The Sundays, if anyone wants to know, and is also on the BTVS soundtrack, but that's neither here nor there.) That was such a well done scene. Absolutely superb acting by both James Roday and Maggie Lawson (though I'm sure it may help that they're dating in RL), and the lighting and framing (a couple of things that I've been paying a lot more attention to with my film class) were incredible. It was probably one of the most moving scenes in any show I've ever seen, totally bittersweet. I actually cried.

On a semi-related note, I've had a few people ask if I'm going to make this fic Shules. The answer is no. I do think they have incredible chemistry, and I do favor them as a pairing, but I generally like to stick to canon for my ship-writing, and I see this story taking place sometime season 2-ish. So while I will definitely include some of their back and forth and maybe a little bit of UST, they will not be ending up in each others' arms at any point. At least not in that way. So, for any of you who may have been hoping for that, I hate to burst your bubble, really, but I also didn't want you to get your hopes up for something that isn't going to be happening in this fic. Of course you are certainly free to imagine whatever you like happening afterward, or even write your vision of it. That's what fanfiction is for, right? :D

And now, for the main attraction. (At least, I hope this is what you guys are reading for. It would be a little weird for people to read just for the author's notes. I mean, I know you guys love me almost as much as I love you all, but still. Weird.) On to the chapter!

**Chapter 4: Vacuums Aren't the Only Things that Suck

* * *

**

Shawn woke up in a cold sweat, panting as if he'd just run a mile.

_What the bizarre nightmare?_

It had started out like the recurring dream he'd had as a kid about getting trapped in a cave, but had then morphed into something entirely new and eerily suggestive of his current predicament, or at least how his subconscious mind seemed to be interpreting it.

He hadn't thought about that childhood bête noire for years. At one point after hearing his father's story and his consequent nightmares, his fear of being buried alive had been almost as bad as his 'distaste' of pointy things. And now that he'd actually experienced it, he was coming around to the belief that it could actually be worse.

He shuddered, shaking off the last remnants of the dream. As his pounding heart began to slow its pace, Shawn became aware that the sounds from his dream seemed to still be playing, somewhere beyond the background of his mind.

Almost not daring to hope, he concentrated and listened carefully. Could it be?

It was.

The sound, faint but distinct, was almost certainly that of heavy-duty machinery working above.

This realization was such a relief that Shawn laughed aloud—for approximately half a second.

He involuntarily drew in a sharp breath at the pain that ripped through his chest at that action, and then let out a slight whimper (_Not a whimper, _he amended to himself. _A manly groan.)_ as even that breath caused the pain to flare again. He held his breath, willing the burning in his ribs to subside, but now his lungs felt like they were on fire and he desperately wanted to take a deep breath. Somehow though, he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to try. He evidently had at least a few cracked or possibly broken ribs, and they were not above expressing their displeasure at his attempts to use them normally. So instead, taking into account what had happened the last time he let anxiety get the better of him, he forced himself to breathe very slowly and deliberately. He knew that this would help keep his movement, and thus, the pain, to a minimum.

Once the pain was manageable, and he was again able to take in air in a fairly regular, if a bit shallow, fashion, Shawn relaxed somewhat. Despite the less than pleasant awakening, he was still immensely cheered knowing that his friends were out there working on getting him out. All he had to do was sit tight. Not that _that_ would be an issue. Well, normally it might, but after all, it wasn't as if he could really do anything else right now. In fact, the biggest problem he had at the moment was how to entertain himself until then.

Ok, maybe not the _biggest_ problem. From the constant ringing in his ears that he knew had nothing to do with the machines above, to the now familiar pounding in his head and the spacey sort of feeling that he might pass out again any moment, he was pretty sure he had a moderate concussion. Also, he didn't have to be psychic to know that he was certainly black-and-blue all over. In fact, the one place that didn't hurt was his left arm and that was because it had long since fallen asleep beneath him—'pins and needles' did not come _close_ to describing what he knew _that_ was going to feel like once he could move it again.

And then there was the crushing weight of the beam on his chest. Besides his ribs that protested with each breath, Shawn idly thought that it felt like one of the rhinoceroses must have stopped dancing on his skull long enough to sit on his chest and take a breather. Now, that was a really ironic thought, considering it was what was keeping _him _from breathing, at least in a complete and satisfactory manner.

_What rhinoceros? __What __the hell __are you talking about?_ a voice in his head asked. _You're losing it, kid._

_Come on, d__ad,_ Shawn argued back. _You must have missed my earlier thoughts on rh__inos that this was clearly—and c__leverly—a reference __back __to.__ Now, __it's__ not my fault__ if you come late to the party. Obviously you're going to miss things. You can't blame me for that._

_Focus, Shawn, _his dad's voice warned._ You're never going to get out of here if you don't._

_Ok __Dad, I__ really don't appreciate your negativity right now__—_ Shawn stopped. _What am I doing? __I'm a__rguing __in my head __with someone who isn't even here._

_Did you ever think that maybe I'm your conscience?_

_Impossible__. __First of all__,__ my conscience would sound __a lot __more like Gus__, or possibly Jiminy Cricket__.__ And__—_Shawn broke off as the noise from outside suddenly went up several levels, bringing about a corresponding increase in the pain in his head.

_What's second of all?_

With some difficulty, Shawn pulled his attention back to the situation. _What?_

_You said 'first of all'. That means you must have a second of all._

Shawn tried to roll his eyes and then stopped as he realized that hurt too. _No, it doesn't._

_Sure it does. What's the other thing, Shawn?_

_Look, I don't _have_ another thing, ok__, so just—_

_You can't remember, can you? You had something else and you forgot. You know that's not a good sign, Shawn. What have I taught you?_

Shawn groaned, wishing he could reach up and rub his aching head. _Shut up._

_Shawn—_

_Seriously, dad__. Do you have n__othing better to do than torment me? I__ get it, ok? I'm a screw-up and a disappointment and __everything is my fault. I've heard it a million times__ and I do _not_ need to hear it again right now__. Just _shut up.

_Shawn, you know you're going to regret not listening to me._

_Well then, let me regret it in peace, at least._

_Fine. It's your head._

And with that, the voice was gone.

"He's right, though," Shawn muttered. "I really must be losing it. Why else would I be hearing_ Henry_, of all people? I'd much rather hear Jules in my head at a time like this. She'd be all," Here he affected a falsetto tone. "'Oh, Shawn, you poor thing, all injured and strangely sexy like this. Let Juliet make it all better. Want some pineapple?'" Now he adopted a suave, radio-like, slightly raspy version of his own voice. "'Why, Juliet, you adorable creature, of course I will have some pineapple. You know I never turn it down.' 'Oh, Shawn, you're so devilishly attractive. Especially your hair. Can I touch it? Please?' 'But of course. There's no one I would rather have run their fingers through this luscious mane. Except perhaps Kelly LeBrock or a young Demi Moore.'"

Imaginary Juliet's ensuing squeal of delight was cut off as it triggered another coughing fit.

Shawn's lungs burned painfully as the coughs wracked his body, not allowing him to draw in a full breath before it was violently expelled again. Just as black spots began dancing in front of his eyes, he managed to gain control of himself again. He took several ragged gasps of air before he could speak again.

"This sucks."

* * *

**A/N: **Ok, so I intended to have the second half of this chapter go back to Lassie, Gus, Henry, Jules, etc. outside the building, but it turns out I'm not quite satisfied with that scene yet and I did _really_ want to post today, so I decided I would cut off the chapter here. It is a little short, but hopefully the fact that I updated counts for something? I promise we will get to everyone else next chapter.  
~Tiff


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Erm… hi, guys. *peeks out cautiously from behind the chapter* So, don't kill me, please. This chapter is about a month-and-a-half-ish overdue, I know, and I could tell you some excuse about my life being busy, crazy, psychotic, or what-have-you, which would be perfectly valid because it is/was, midterms and all, plus I've had the flu or something awful like that, plus I've been working practically every free moment I'm not in school, plus all of that might possibly be making me crazy and/or about to spontaneously combust, but as true as that all is, it is also true that I have recently been experiencing what one might call a block. Yes, a block. I would pull out my notebook or sit down in front of my computer to write just about every night, and nothing would come. It was very frustrating. I'm not actually sure why I had such a hard time just getting my thoughts down on paper, since I pretty much envisioned the entire story before I even began writing, so I knew exactly what needed to happen. I just couldn't get this chapter to work for some reason until a few days ago. :P Anyway, I hope you like it, and don't worry; the next chapter won't take anywhere near as long.

Oh, and PS, I was going to try to write Chief Vick into this story, not that she would have affected the plot in any way, just to have her make an appearance and what-not, but I decided that she is just going to be out of town for this one. Makes it simpler. Lassie, as Head Detective, is in charge, and all that jazz. Just so you know. :D

PPS: All of you guys who reviewed and I didn't get back to you, I'm really sorry. I meant to, I did, and stuff got in the way. Just know that I love all you fabulous readers, and I will try to be better about responding for this chapter.

**Chapter 5: Whose Line Is It Anyway?

* * *

**

Shawn groaned in frustration as the tune emanating from the vicinity of his back pocket started up again, filling the small area with its shrill sound.

"Are you kidding me? Why on earth anyone would need to call me 47 times in a row…" he grumbled. "There'd better be some kind of emergency!"

Granted, he supposed his current situation could possibly, in some circles, be considered some type of emergency, but still: how was calling him 70 million times going to make any sort of difference when he _was_ the emergency? And alright, he could appreciate that maybe people were worried, but at that moment he would have bet money that the Crazy Frog ringtone would kill him before the collapsing building ever got the chance.

It had honestly not occurred to him upon buying the ringtone that it would ever have the power to irritate him this much, or, even if it did, he assumed he'd be getting too much enjoyment out of how much it annoyed Lassiter to care. Right now, though, as his phone rang over and over with him unable to answer or turn it off—or even reach up to cover his ears—the sound was enough to make him wish that the explosion had rendered him deaf, at least temporarily.

He ground his teeth angrily as the song started over once more.

"That is _it_! I am _never_ watching _Beverly Hills Cop_ again!"

* * *

"_Hello there. You've reached the personal line of Shawn Spencer, __psychic detective, platypus __enthusiast__, __and __lover of __pudding__. I'm sensing that there is something you want to tell me. Unfortunately, it seems that I'm__ busy;__ either off taming a man-eating tiger, on a quest to find and/or destroy some sort of enchanted magical artifact, or possibly__, boringly,__ on the other line. If you would like me to get back to you, go ahead and leave a message if you must, but there's no need to leave your number as I can easily discover it psychically. Also, I have Caller ID. Nice shirt, by the way."_

Gus cursed under his breath as a long tone sounded in his ear. "Shawn. It's me. _Again_. You know I'm just going to keep calling and leaving you messages until you answer me, right? I am nothing if not persistent. I would think you'd have learned _that_ back in the third grade when I—"

"Gus."

Gus turned, surprised at being interrupted and even more surprised that the voice had called him 'Gus' instead of 'Guster.' He closed the phone and regarded Lassiter with some puzzlement. For a second he thought he'd seen what looked like concern in the other man's eyes.

"What?" Gus asked.

Under Gus' scrutiny, the head detective shifted uncomfortably. Then, folding his arms almost threateningly, Lassiter quickly returned to his usual picture of impatience. "What, _exactly_, are you doing, Guster?"

Gus scoffed, immediately jumping to the defensive. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" he replied angrily. "I'm trying to call Shawn!"

"Oh?" Lassiter snorted derisively. "And that's useful how? It's not like we don't know where he is. What good do you expect that to do when Spencer obviously can't answer?"

Gus shot him a look that was pure fury. "Maybe _you_ think it's not going to do any good," he shot back, "but _I'm _not ready to give up on my best friend!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes, but the strange concern had returned. "Don't twist my words, Guster; that's not what I meant and you know it. I'm just being realistic."

"No, you're being an ass!"

Gus glowered at Lassiter a few seconds longer for emphasis before stomping away, leaving the detective blinking in surprise in the wake of this uncharacteristic display of temper.

Lassiter looked across the way to his fellow police officers, hoping to find someone to back him up. McNab, who had been watching the whole thing, simply shook his head helplessly.

"What?" Lassiter protested. "I didn't mean it that way. Honest."

"Yeah." McNab shrugged in sympathy before turning back to watch the excavation team at work. "We're all stressed."

It was true, Lassiter thought as he caught sight of his partner once again. Her eyes were locked onto the building ahead as she paced back and forth, as close to the site as she was allowed to be. She was watching every move and shift of the rubble with an almost religious devotion, hardly pausing to blink as she steadily chewed the nails on her right hand down into ragged stubs. Worry was written into her face, and every feature fairly screamed tension.

Henry, after shouting at everyone he could think of, going from person to person to make sure he hadn't missed anyone, and then going around once more for good measure, finally seemed to have discovered that it was not producing results. The pseudo-psychic's father was now standing on the front line with Juliet, staring at the scene and muttering to himself. He occasionally took out his cell phone as if he were about to call someone, but every time he would shake his head and put it back, then go right back to staring and muttering.

Standing on his other side, Gus continued making his fruitless calls, shooting pointed glares at Lassiter each time he did.

Lassiter sighed. He was in charge of this whole operation being that the chief was away at a conference, so why on earth did he feel so powerless? And most of all, why was he so concerned?

Now that was a good question. Why _was_ he? Spencer had been nothing more than a thorn in the head detective's side ever since he'd first begun working with the department. The man was a constant annoyance, regularly throwing protocol and good judgment by the side of the road in favor of dramatic spectacles and juvenile tactics.

Tactics that, Lassiter had to admit, yielded results. The psychic was good at what he did, that much was clear. Very good. Astounding, even, if he had to put a word to it.

And yet, despite having realized and admitted this to himself, Carlton found himself a little surprised at how used to the psychic he had become. The SBPD would certainly be a different place without him.

_Have I begun to think of _Shawn Spencer_ as a friend? _he thought in disbelief._ No. It can't be._

But what could be another explanation? Although he had tried to look at this as he would any other incident involving a civilian, he couldn't help but feel more involved, more anxious, hell, more _afraid_ than he ever had let himself feel with any other civilian's life on the line.

He ran a hand back through his hair, suddenly feeling very tired, very old, and very useless.

"Damn it, Spencer."

* * *

**A/N: **So, I know I don't deserve it and all, being late and such, but it would totally make my day if you would review. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, tell me about your day, tell me your pet's name or your favorite food, tell me your pet's favorite food if you like, just as long as you leave something that may or may not in some way be related to this chapter. :D

kthxbai!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Do I hafta? :(

**A/N:** Yes, I'm back. I know it's been a year since I've updated this story and for that I am truly sorry. It has kind of been a crazy year. I would explain some things but it would take a while and I'm sure you guys just want to get to the story. Plus, it's 6 am here. Way past my bedtime. But, rest assured, I'll never leave my stories or you guys for so long again. Promise. I less than 3 you guys!

Reviews are love!

**Chapter 6: Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down**

* * *

"Really? Are you _trying _to kill me?" Shawn cried in frustration as his phone continued to play the (by now hateful) ringtone. "Oh, come on, Gus!"

It had to be his best friend who kept calling. No one else Shawn had ever met was that persistent.

"Maybe my battery will run out soon," Shawn muttered. He was actually slightly cheered by that notion. After all, he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd charged his iPhone.

This happier train of thought was interrupted as Shawn heard what sounded like something grainy sifting through the cracks of whatever part of the building was above his head. He automatically cast his eyes about searchingly, even though he knew it was still too dark for him to see anything.

It sounded like the excavation team was really going to town on the rubble up there. There was definitely some dust and debris being shifted around in what was left of the building.

Shawn frowned, uneasy. He really hoped those guys knew what they were doing.

* * *

Henry Spencer stood to one side of a squad car, his posture rigid and his mouth pulled into a taut line as he stared at the cell phone in his hands. He had no idea where in the world Madeleine was, only that she was not answering her phone. He had debated even calling her at first, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily about Shawn, but finally he'd decided that, regardless, she needed to know what was going on. Of course, it would help if she picked up the damn phone once in a while.

He sighed deeply, flipping the phone closed and tucking it into his pocket. He couldn't waste any more energy on his ex-wife right now; Shawn needed him more.

_You better be ok, Shawn,_ Henry thought as he folded his arms tightly and stared at the destroyed building. _Because I owe you a major ass-kicking for this._

* * *

"-right here, Detective. You see?"

Juliet tore her gaze away from the building to see her partner nearby talking with a man in a hard hat.

"I see. So what does that mean?" Carlton queried, narrowing his eyes as he studied the blueprints the man was holding.

"Well, we're a little worried about the structural stability of the southeast corner. It seemed to be holding up well, and we were hoping to go in from there, but now things appear to be shifting somewhat." The man took off his hat briefly, wiping his forehead with the back of one hand. "To put it honestly, I don't think it would be wise to risk putting anyone down there. I hate to say it, sir, but odds are your man is already dead. I would bet killed instantly." He shrugged then. "Sorry, I just don't think it's worth it."

Juliet brought her hands to her mouth with a strangled gasp. It was the first anyone had voiced her worst fears. Somehow, the idea just seemed to be much more… _possible_ now that it had been said aloud.

"Now look here," Carlton growled, drawing on every inch of his lanky 6'1 frame as he stepped menacingly into the other man's personal space. "A man's life hangs in the balance and that's what you choose to say about it? Well, let me tell you something. You don't get to decide if something—_someone_—is 'worth it' or not. You don't have that right. Just who the hell do you think you are?"

"Detective, I-"

"Shut up," Carlton interrupted. "I'm not finished. Now, here's what's going to happen next. You're going to get your sorry act together and do your job. You will come up with a plan, preferably in the next five minutes, of how to get into that building. You will then proceed to go in there, find my man, and bring him out so that he can get the medical care that he undoubtedly needs. And if I hear you raise one more doubt about any of this, I will personally see to it that you never work in this county again. Am I clear?"

"Yes, but… look, Detective, I'm just being realistic here."

"No, you're being an ass!" Carlton blew out a frustrated breath as he realized that he was repeating Guster's earlier words. "Get out of my sight."

"But-"

"I have a gun."

The other man scuttled away and Carlton turned with a huff, only then noticing Juliet where she stood a few feet away.

"O'Hara?" He took a step toward his obviously upset partner. "You ok?"

"Me?" Juliet shakily reached up to wipe away a lone tear that had escaped and sniffed. "_I'm _fine, Carlton. I just… He's not right, is he? About Shawn?"

Carlton gave a long sigh. "No," he finally answered, decidedly. "No way. Spencer's way too stubborn for that."

"Got that right," Gus chimed in from behind them, his voice soft. He gave Lassiter a small half smile, obviously no longer harboring hard feelings against the detective. "He can be downright pig-headed when he wants to be."

"Yep, well, that's Shawn for you," added Henry, as he walked up to join them. "He's never been the greatest at doing what's expected of him. Sometimes, that can actually come in handy."

* * *

As the building around Shawn creaked and groaned with increasing frequency, he was beginning to grow more nervous. More and more dirt and debris had begun to fall around his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, just before an entire face-full of the stuff dropped.

"Ugh!" Shawn spat and spluttered and coughed, trying to get all the debris off his mouth and nose as it continued to rain down from above. With his hands still trapped, he knew he had to keep his airway clear. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the beats speeding up as his adrenaline rose and he struggled to keep his breathing even.

Suddenly, the ground seemed to rumble, and the screech of abused metal sounded from above.

Shawn knew what was happening. The wreckage was shifting.

"This is going to be really, _really_ bad," he mumbled, and braced himself.

* * *

**A/N:** Annnnnnd... another clifffhanger! Dun dun **DUN**! But the next chapter is half written and will be up in a few days, so don't worry.

Or do worry. As for myself, I personally love worrying about Shawn. Why do you think I read so much h/c? XD


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